


The Chronicles of Mr Black: Accidentally Meeting with Mrs Black

by Gibbsgalsa



Series: The Chronicles Of Mr. Black [3]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gibbsgalsa/pseuds/Gibbsgalsa
Summary: Part of "The Chronicles of Mr Black".  - I set the rating to Teens and up, just in case.





	1. Chapter 1

Christmas Eve 1944, Christopher sat with a drink in hand and finished reading Andrew's letter. He had especially been happy to have received it on this Christmas. Oddly enough, Andrew must have been a bit nostalgic, as Andrew had written about the Christmas Rosalind and Christopher had bought Meccano Aeroplane constructor kit. Andrew's letter ran a full paragraph how that was one of the best Christmas, as he was still playing with it through the summer. Only until Andrew had received the next version, at fourteen, did he replace it on his shelf in his room. Foyle smiled as the note in his hands. That year, 1930, had been quite an eventful Christmas season for him professionally as well.

Foyle remembered her that night in 1930. Rosalind's black, silky hair was neatly pleated and elegantly applied on her head. He smiled at her with his eyes as she gazed back, waiting for him to fetch her from the bar. He did not move immediately. Her gown, hair and the entire package enraptured him. He genuinely adored his wife. Every inch of her. 

She looked gorgeous in the dark blue gown. It was a bit risqué for a policeman’s wife, but still conservative in comparison to the other women's dresses in the nouveau club. It was weeks before Christmas 1930, and many of the ladies wore bright colours. He regarded these with an eye of a detective, but all the others didn't compare to his Rosalind. 

He finally blinked and started towards her. He noticed her drink him in, while she sipped from her glass. Her eyes danced in amusement as her husband eyed her suggestively. It was not blatant to anyone but Rosalind, and she smiled innocently back at him. He knew that smile meant she could not believe she had been married to him for ten beautiful years. He felt the same. 

She had just turned eighteen when he proposed to her. She had begged him to kiss her as she cornered the then twenty-one-year-old Captain. She had been in love with him ever since Charles had brought him home a year earlier. She made them both pose for her that day so that she could capture their likeness with a quick pencil sketch. Both men had praised her talent, and Rosalind simply smiled and told them to stop talking nonsense. Secretly, she never cared what others thought of her work. She sketched and painted for her pleasure. Her enjoyment of creating something real or unique. That was enough for her. If others enjoyed it, that was rewarding but not her end goal. She had to paint; it was in her mind and whole spirit.

Foyle stopped before her, eyes smiling. His mouth smirked at her, “Is this seat taken?” Foyle was trying not to grin at her, as she gestured him towards the bar stool.

“I have been waiting for someone to meet me,” Rosalind turned towards him and leaned gracefully against the bar, “Must have been delayed.”

“What a cad!” Foyle said with a straight face, “Let me make amends for the fool and have you for dinner.”

Rosalind lightly bit the bottom of her lip, keeping herself from laughing. Her husband was apparently in a lighter mood than when she saw him in Hastings. He had not wanted to go back undercover for three weeks, but he reluctantly packed a few things in a bag and kissed his family goodbye. A week ago, his letter arrived. Though cryptic, naturally, he indicated where to meet and when. Rosalind had shopped for a new frock and took half that afternoon to bathe and drape herself in the new silk gown just for him. Her mother had agreed to come down from the country to watch Andrew for the next two days. She certainly hoped Christopher had made reservations at a hotel or at least contacted Charles to let Mary and her brother know they would be staying at the family home. Rosalind was confident her husband had made the proper plans for them.

‘I love your new suit, Christopher,” Rosalind’s gaze lingered on him, running her eyes from the startling expensive new shoes, silk pants and beautifully cut double-breasted suit. Her gaze went to his eyes and again pointedly ran her eyes up and down him slowly.

‘They gave these to me for work, comes with the territory,’ Foyle smiled and gallantly nodded, ‘It almost .. hmmm...does your beauty justice.’

Rosalind had never been to this restaurant since they did not dine out frequently. They usually went to restaurants that Charles recommended over the years, or near Scotland Yards, of course.  
Christopher ordered drinks for Rosalind and himself, and then he asked, “How is Andrew?”

‘He is well,’ Rosalind thought of their ten-year-old son and smiled at his father, ‘He decided this week he wants to be a writer.’

Christopher smiled back. His son was letting his parents know over the last few months what he was going to be when he grew up. Much to Foyle’s relief, Andrew never mentioned being a policeman. Andrew was very talented, and Christopher privately hoped he would take advantage of his mother's higher social station. 

“How are you?” Christopher's eyes spoke volumes; his eyes slid along her frame for the tenth time. His eyes darted back to hers with an unusual anxious glint. She didn’t know what his official business in London was about, but he had to occasionally report up to headquarters, many times without warning over the last three years. When he returned, it took him a few weeks to reacquire his usual restful peace. It was clear whatever they had him working on was not to his liking.

‘I am fine, Christopher,’ she smiled back at him, her eyes softening as she said, ‘I’ve missed you.’

Her eyes were as warm as he could remember. He couldn't help giving her a subtle smile, and he ran his hand lightly over the back of hers. 

He said, ‘I have booked us in down the street.’

Rosalind smiled back at him, and her eyes turned even warmer, ‘Delightful. You think of everything.’ 

‘I hhave.’ Foyle agreed seriously. His eyes darted away from her gaze, and he shifted himself to observe the vast room. 

The maitre d' arrived shortly and guided them to their table. Rosalind sat and studied the menu. Foyle watched her as he considered why he hadn't brought her straight to their hotel. There was room service, and he could have indulged a multiple of appetites. Foyle smiled at the thought but dismissed the idea. Rosalind was a lady and his wife, and he would never consider this option, though a very tempting. Christopher would never want to take her for granted, and if honest, he was still a little in awe that she was in love with him. Foyle bit his lip and admitted, like many times before; he had married way above his class. Of course, Rosalind never hinted at such an idea. 

‘Darling, do you already know what you are having?” Rosalind looked up from her menu. If he hadn't known better, the look in her eyes seemed to indicate that she had read his mind. 

‘Yes, dear… what are you having?’ Foyle smiled slightly. She told him the fish.

When the waiter came, he ordered the baked fish entrée for them both and asked for a bottle of their best white wine. He had not even looked at the menu. Rosalind smiled knowingly at him, and he smiled back.

Moments later, Foyle was unpleasantly surprised after looking up and seeing George Nealls approaching the table. Looking directly at Rosalind and using his stern DC voice, ‘Rosalind, play along, I AM Charles Black.’

Foyle stood up to straighten his suit and planted a grim expression to greet the man. His heart began to race, and he felt his palm moisten, nodding abruptly at his dear wife, Foyle bit his lower lip, narrowed his eye and waited for George to complete his approach.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello, George,” Rosalind had never heard that tone of voice from Christopher before. His decidedly unfriendly growl had a harsh undertone and a lower-class accent, ‘Fancy meetin’ you here.’

Christopher’s grin defied his tone, and his wife watched on as he uncharacteristically unbuttoned his jacket. Christopher shoved his hands deep into his slacks and aggressively widened his stance. Rosalind blinked and demurely watched as her very reserved and ultra-polite husband of ten years acted incredibly out of character.

‘What a surprise to be meeting you here of all places,’ George Nealls agreed, and his voice of superiority had a questioning air of disbelief, ‘I would think a little too respectable for you, eh Black?’

Christopher's eyes narrowed, as Nealls missed his death glare. Foyle watched while the other man glanced over at Rosalind.

‘So, Black, are you going to introduce me to your beautiful lady friend,’ George Nealls was a lecher of the first order, and she gazed back at the man, who took in every aspect of her person and undressed her right there in front of her husband.

Christopher gritted his teeth and leaned into Nealls personal space and stated, ‘My lady friend is Mrs Blaaack ,” Foyle’s clipped response left no doubt what he thought of Mr Nealls. As Christopher pulled his right hand from his pocket, Rosalind saw the small firearm tucked into his waist. Rosalind looked up and saw Mr Nealls look at Christopher's aggressive stance and then at her husband’s gun.

Mr Nealls moved a step out of Christopher’s personal space, and his previous gravitas of superiority changed to alarm. He said, with shaky humour in his voice, ‘I did not know you were married. No offence, of course.’  


Christopher narrowed his eyes at the man, and George Nealls slipped past him to continue to his table. Foyle pivoted to follow him with his eyes, as Nealls made his way across the dining area. Foyle was still staring him down as the man sat and looked back at their table. Nealls pulled himself up straight, as he felt the full glare of Charles Black.

Staring at him for one more long moment, Foyle finally sat back down. He manoeuvred his chair so that Nealls would see his back and nothing of Rosalind. Foyle neatly placed the napkin once more across his legs and rubbed his left hand against his forehead. Dinner was going to be very odd now. Not at all what he had in mind.

“Sorry for that,” Christopher finally looked up at his wife. Fortunately, his proper voice returned, and the softness of his tone was even more apologetic than Rosalind had ever heard before.

“Nonsense, Christopher,” Rosalind smiled with what Christopher called her "good society” smile at him. Lord, she had never directed it at him before, “One is bound to meet people one works with at the most inopportune times. I assume you know him from work?”

Christopher was not going to answer that obviously. She just asked it as a pointed question.

“If he comes back, darling, just act… hhhhmmm… decorative,” Christopher intentionally used his Mr Charles Hugh Black persona and lower-class voice to counter her society look. 

He didn’t like the “fake” Rosalind that she often presented to acquaintances before they were married. It amused him at the time when they were courting. She wheeled her society skills in cutting down anyone who looked down their noses at him. Christopher would typically ignore snide comments or looks. Foyle started to pay close attention after the first few times Rosalind defended him. Her protection didn’t quite sit well with him, but more importantly, he had fought in the Great War and raised to the title of Captain. Many of the socialites who looked down on him, and by extension his soon-to-be-wife, had never seen battle or even picked up a weapon. 

Foyle decided, he was well able to defend himself against them. He verbally bested them with his intellectual sarcasm and cutting wit. He argued law with several barristers, as well as conversed over literature and philosophy. Christopher Foyle, usually a shy retiring man, made a point to verbally thump all who would detract his right to be in their supposed elevated society. Rosalind had said it made her fall even more in love with him, but Christopher just laughed.

The evening progressed, but as George returned to their table, Mr Black returned with a vengeance.


	3. Chapter 3

'Black, I wondered if I may have a word?' George Neal's voice grated on Foyle's last nerve. 

He and Rosalind placed down their glasses at the same time. Rosalind looked at Foyle expectantly. Christopher nodded and pushed his chair back to respond, "Look here Nealls, bugger off, eh?"

Rosalind kept very still as Mr Black's lower class verbiage showed in full tilt.

George stood nose to nose with her husband. Staring at each other, Foyle snared at the man before him, 'I don't answer to you, so shove off, will ya? Mrs Blaack is expecting a goood time tonight, on the account as it is our 1st Anniversary.'

Christopher tugged at Rosalind's hand to pull her up to his side. Foyle let his hand provocatively wrap around her waist. Mr Foyle never had public displays of such a possessive nature; Mr Black, on the other hand, eased his hand lower off her waist to expand along the upper part of her bottom. 

‘John will be interested to know you have a Mrs,’ his undertone threatened that he was sure to inform their gun-running boss.

'Wwell, ya know, don't think John would care," Charles Black glared at him and then put amusement into his voice, "John and I think alike and women should know thei' place." 

Before Christopher even thought to look down at his wife, Rosalind slipped closer into his embrace, running her hand along his shirt just above his belt and up passed his rib. She tugged at him even further and smiled at Nealls, ‘Actually, I am not quite Mrs Black yet.’

Rosalind let her comment sink in as she suggestively ran her hand back over Foyle’s mid-drift, “We have never quuite made it official, have we, Charles?”

Foyle knew she was getting right into the role of being decorative as she continued, “Stealing me from my artist-patron was not exactly making it official.”

Rosalind practically twinkled at Nealls. Foyle chuckled and replied before she added something not quite matching Black's official background, ‘Well, Nealls, that's what comes from living in Paris or for that matter on the Continent. Collecting art, and women, eh?’

Nealls nodded at Black and then back at Rosalind. Her returning gaze was glib, and only Foyle could tell she was unbelievably incensed.

Rosalind was piqued for a multiple of reasons. There was an icy glare in Rosalind’s gleam, as she looked up at him with the oh-so socialite smile. Christopher bit his lip and stared sardonically at Nealls waiting for the man’s next threat or to leave them in peace. Much to Foyle’s relief, George headed for the exit. 

Rosalind sat after he departed and eyed her husband silently. Foyle went to speak, but the shifting of her eyes stated that she was not about to have this particular conversation in a public place.


	4. Chapter 4

Foyle opened the door to the toilet softly. Rosalind was still laying on her stomach with just a small edge of the blanket covering her backside. Christopher smiled as he took in her bare bits. He shook his head and moved to the window. It was nine-thirty am, and he could never remember sleeping this late since Andrew’s birth.

Christopher looked down at the garden courtyard watching the early risers mulling back and forth with luggage, some stopped to greet each other, and while others would smoke to one side. Christopher glanced over at Rosalind and debated with himself if he should disturb her sleep or not. He firmly made his mind lose that train of thought and continued to take in the holiday garden below. Christopher was decidedly relieved that he remained at the window, as just below his view, Mr George Nealls was speaking animatedly with two men. Foyle did not recognise them, but he knew their type. 

Christopher backed up behind the curtain to stay out of their view should the three men happen to look up. He narrowed his gaze as he observed them from his secure advantage point. Even from this angle, Foyle could see the bulge of their firearms and their stance indicated that these men were not here for early morning tea. While biting his lip, Christopher’s mind raced.

Making a firm decision, Christopher pulled the curtains closed and regulated his breathing. That always helped, he found. Then he moved to the telephone and picked up the handle. As quietly as possible, Christopher dialled.

“Charles, good it’s you,” Foyle said in a hushed voice, grateful it was not Charles’ wife who picked up, ‘Listen, have something rather urgent and essential for you to do. Need you to drive over here to the Langham. Now, this is very important, do not get out, come to the back-alley drive through to the northeast corner. Rosalind and I will meet you there.”

“Christopher, what’s all this about?" Charles asked.

“Charles, I’ll explain later. Be here as soon as possible,” Christopher returned, “And Charles, thank you.”

Christopher placed the headset back on the handle and turned around. Rosalind had rolled over and had been listening to his conversation.

“Darling, I hate to rush you, but we need to leave in …” Christopher paused and looked at his watch, “Well, hmm say 10 minutes?”

Rosalind looked at him as if he had grown two heads, “You are joking, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, no,” Christopher moved to the chair where she must have placed their clothes sometime during the night. He started to put his suit back on, and he flashed half lopsided grin at Rosalind, who was still in bed, “Thanks for tidying.”

“Christopher, you really expect me to be ready in 10 minutes?” Rosalind asked again.

“Yes, come along. Charles will be here in less than 10 minutes. You look beautiful as you are and I know you have a certain standard, but truly, darling, we have very little time.”

Christopher had completed putting on his suite and went to the mirror to straighten his tie and brush down his hair. He saw Rosalind through the mirror and flipped the covers off her with a huff. She went to the chair, and he watched as she collected her clothing. She caught his gaze as she passed by him, “Shame you are rushing me, Christopher.”

He read her meaning in her eyes. He nodded to her and agreed, “Very much a shame.”

He heard her chuckle as she closed the door on him. He smoothly went to the drawer and reset his gun and holster to his waist.

She emerged from the toilet exactly seven minutes later looking very well kept and she then put on her heels, “I expect reparations for this in the near future, Christopher.”

“Wull, most certainly,” Christopher agreed and kissed her on the cheek. He opened the door and guided her out.

Rosalind made for the elevator, but Christopher guided her past them to move down the corridor to the stairs. He held his hand on her arm as he looked down the stairwell and then also looked up. He grasped her hand and walked ahead of her down the six flights of stairs.

They made it to the entrance without encountering anyone, much to Christopher’s relief. Christopher pushed at the door just to peek outside, and there was no one in the alley. Charles still had a few minutes he guessed. Turning back to Rosalind, he efficiently took her in his arms, and said against her lips, “Truly, this can’t be help.”

Christopher heard the role of tires outside and hoped it was Charles. He closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Rosalind and pulled her in for a crushing squeeze, “I will see you as soon as I can.”  
Poking his head out the exit door again, Charles was getting out of the vehicle looking around the alley.

Charles smiled as he saw his sister and Christopher. It was clear Charles had just hurried through London to get to them as he only wore slacks, shirt and a thin jacket. He looked quite put out as he hinted, “Explanations come best with a drink, Christopher.”

“Absolutely, old man,” Christopher agreed as he walked around to deposit his wife in the passenger’s side and swung around to speak with Charles, “Listen, carefully, take a left out of here. Do not come to the front of the hotel, drive for four or five miles north, plenty of turns, then make sure when you come back down south to go past police headquarters and Scotland Yard’s then you can head home. Alright?”

“Why not,” Charles looked at him oddly and shook his head as he started the engine. Christopher didn’t wait long to go back up to the room.

Rosalind smiled at her brother and stated, “You didn’t know your sister had a nutter as a husband, did you?”

Charles let out a soft chuckle and winked at his sister, “He fits right in with the Howards, I’d say.”

As Charles moved to the main street, Rosalind advised, “Well, yes, but I want to know what’s going on. Take a right and go in front of the build.”

“Not on your life,” Charles immediately responded and took a left. He casually went north while keeping an eye in the rear-view mirror. Christopher didn’t have to spell it out that they might be followed and he was going to be damn sure no one came near his home.

Rosalind crossed her arms the entire ride back.

In the interim, Christopher had decided that the best defence is a good offence and went down to meet some new friends.

George was sitting there reading a newspaper, and his cohorts were nowhere to be seen. Christopher was sure they would be around shortly. He was correct as he moved towards Nealls, Christopher felt them beside him.

He ignored them and continued to walk over to George, Mr Black bantered where they had left off the previous evening, “Another coincidence, Nealls?”

“No, Black,” George stood up and stated, “John was looking for you, so I came to fetch you for him. He was quite interested in the meeting your “wife”,” Nealls’ tone of voice was salacious, and Christopher could just imagine what kind of conversation the two men had regarding this new information.

Christopher didn’t think this required a reply and just gazed at him with an uncaring look. Foyle schooled his features to be very bland and unemotional.

“So, Mr Black, these two gentlemen will go fetch her for you,” Nealls eyed gleamed. Foyle flexed his fists in his trouser pockets to stop himself from smashing Nealls in the face. Instead, he regarded the man before him with a satisfied gleam.

“Yeah, ‘fraid that won’t be possible,” Foyle began, “See, you just missed her, she left on an early train and will be already headed back to Paris by now. Perhaps next time she is here.”

Foyle saw Nealls face turn red with anger and he nodded to the men, “Go check.”

Foyle raised his eyebrows in surprise and shrugged, “Help yourselves.”

Christopher sat down, took up Nealls’ Sunday Times and began to read. He absently wondered when next he would see his wife and hoped to make his way to Charles before she left for the day. He did not raise his hopes, but he would do his very best to make this next meeting brief.

Foyle awoke with a start, he had long finished his whiskey, and the wireless was now static. He rubbed his hands over his face and pushed himself up from the chair. Andrew’s letter had dropped to the floor, so he bent to retrieve it. He carefully folded the letter and walked to the bureau to store it with the rest of his son’s correspondence. Blinking Foyle shut the drawer and headed to bed. As always, Foyle went through his nightly ritual with the firm belief, especially during holidays, that it was wise not to dwell on lost friends and loved ones. And it was best to leave the past firmly in the past. This Christmas would be no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> This is the last chapter for this particular little story.  
> I am into characters more than plot. These stories are mostly fluff with a little plot weaved in...


End file.
